To Be a Malfoy
by Neliza.Cole
Summary: Young Pyris Malfoy is beginning her training at Hogwarts, and discovering the difference between the way the Malfoys see themselves, and the way the rest of the world sees them. Somewhat short fic in three parts.


**DISCLAIMER**: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

PART ONE: PURE BLOOD

I remember when I first learned what it meant to be a Malfoy. I was six years old, and my father had just taught me to read. I was delighted by this newfound talent, and soon reading everything I could get my hands on, provided it was less than one hundred pages, as that was the maximum my attention span would allow. I was lying on my stomach in the sitting room floor of our small, old cottage, soaking up a few of my father's dusty old non-fictions. He sat in a nearby straight-backed chair, attempting to make his way through the day's issue of _The Daily Prophet_, but had hardly finished the front page article due to my constant stream of requests for various pronunciations and definitions.

"Dad, what's a. . . _Muggle_?" I asked interestedly, pausing at the unfamiliar word.

"Mmm?" he grunted as he turned his weary green eyes on me, and lifted his circular reading glasses yet again.

"A Muggle. . . What is it?" I consulted the page again. "It says, '_Witches and wizards tend to avoid this area because of the high number of Muggles._'"

He sighed. "A Muggle is a non-magical person," he said shortly, and turned back to his newspaper.

But I wasn't finished. "What do you mean, non-magical? Like me? I can't do magic yet, am I a Muggle?"

Father flinched. "No, no, of course not. Muggles never do magic. They can't. They don't even know about it."

My eyes grew wide. "There are people like that?"

"Yes, plenty of them. But not around here. Don't worry, Pyris. They don't know about us and we don't talk to them."

"But, why not? Why can't we tell them about magic?"

Father looked exasperated. "That's just the way it is," he stated firmly. "They shouldn't know about magic. They couldn't handle it. They're stupid, silly people."

"Don't _any _of them know?"

"Well. . . I guess, Muggle parents with magical children do." He immediately looked regretful that he'd said that. This new information would undoubtedly bring another string of questions.

I was very interested now. I sat up. "That can _happen_?" I asked, fascinated.

"Yes, some wizards and witches have Muggle parents, but those witches and wizards are Mudbloods. In a few years. . ." He almost shuddered. "You'll probably go to school with a few of them, unfortunately. There will be Mudbloods at Hogwarts, but you must not speak to them, Pyris. Try to stay away from them. They are no good for you."

I was puzzled. "But why, Dad?"

My father ran his hands through his silvery blond hair. "Because. . . they're not like us." He looked at the floor for a moment, and seemed to hesitate, but soon, his gaze met mine, and I witnessed an expression in his eyes I had never seen before. "We are Malfoys. We are pure-blooded. You are a pure-blood, I am a pure-blood, and for generations back, all of the Malfoys have been pure-blood. All of the Malfoys have been wizards. The Mudbloods. . . they are lesser beings. They think just because they can do a few tricks they are worthy of our world, and should be trained in magic!" he spat. "They don't belong here with us, and we need to let them know that." The tone of his voice had slowly changed from purely informational to boastful, and now, it was bordering angry. Pyris, remember, always be _proud_ of being a Malfoy. We're one of the last truly _pure _wizarding families left, and we are above the Mudbloods and blood traitors. They are _filth_, Pyris. We control them and we. . . well, we put them in their place," he finished harshly.

I finally recognized this new emotion in his eyes. Hatred.

We sat in silence for a bit. Then, "So we just. . . _hate_ them? Because they're different?"

He sighed. "Sweetheart, you'll understand when you're older." His voice was softer now. "Its not all black and white like that." But his pure-blood speech told me the exact opposite. He looked at me for a moment, his head in his hand. "But. . . yes, in short. . .we hate them. Because they're different."

So there it was, the way I learned it. Throughout the next few years, I was constantly reminded to be proud. I was a Malfoy, and that was a pure-blood name that commanded respect. What did it mean to be a Malfoy? For my father, it meant pride, but all I picked up on was hate. We were Malfoys, we were pure-blood, and we hated the Muggles. We hated the half-breeds, the blood traitors, and all their supporters. Most of all, we hated the Mudbloods. We hated them, simply, because they were different.

--++--

_Five Years Later_

I awoke to loud, angry stomping ascending the narrow wooden steps to the second floor of our cottage. Knowing my father was probably coming to wake me, I slipped out of my bed and walked sleepily to my wardrobe. I glanced out the window. It was still dark. I could hear my father at the top of the stairs, muttering something about his "impolite, positively psychotic brother."

That's when I remembered what day it was. Of course! My father had recruited my uncle and cousin to come today and take me to get my things for school, then I'd stay with them tonight and they'd take me to the train station tomorrow, to leave for Hogwarts. My father would never take me himself, of course. He hadn't set foot off our property in as long as I could remember.

A small part of me was extremely excited. I'd been waiting for years to go off to learn magic at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. But at the same time, I'd been dreading the arrival of my uncle and cousin for months. My cousin, Draco, wasn't too bad, whenever his father actually let him speak for himself, but after the handful of times I'd encountered my Uncle Lucius, I'd developed an extreme dislike of him. My father, of course, was even less fond of the pair, and usually, whenever Zeb and Lucius Malfoy found themselves in the same room, it didn't end well. In fact, it rarely started well. Father acted as though he thought he was better than Uncle Lucius. I knew, though, that he was jealous of Lucius's power. Zeb Malfoy had a dark past. Before I was born, he'd spent a few years in Azkaban. He was angry. He knew that his younger brother had done things that could land _him _in Azkaban. He was angry that Lucius had never been caught, and was still living his rich and powerful life.

A loud bang at my door. "Get up and come downstairs!" came my father's disgruntled voice.

"Coming!" I yawned.

I threw on some clothes and shuffled out of my room and down the stairs into the kitchen. I took in the rare sight of the three remaining Malfoy men, standing side by side, in all their pale, blond, sneering glory. My uncle and father looked a lot alike, except that my father was a few years older, a few inches shorter, and had considerably less of the trademark Malfoy platinum blond hair we all shared. They had the same thin lips, strong jaw, and long, straight nose. Their eyes held the most notable difference. My father's eyes were the same dark green as mine. His eyes, though, seemed a bit sad, or just tired, as though the life been worn out of them. His brother's eyes, however, were a cold, stone gray, devoid of all emotion, as though they'd never been alive to begin with. Draco, my fifteen-year-old cousin, was a clone of his father, right down to the conceited scowl they both wore as they took in our dull, unkempt kitchen and the tiny sitting room beyond. I was suddenly acutely aware of a large cobweb on the low ceiling, just above my father's head.

"Ah, Pyris!" drawled Uncle Lucius as he noticed my presence, and six Malfoy eyes focused on me. He took a step forward and placed his cold hands on my shoulders, stiffly kissing my cheek. "My, how you've grown! You were just a little girl the last time I saw you, and now you're a young woman, about to go off to school and everything." He said this as though he were trying to be friendly, but it came out condescending and snobbish.

"Hi, Uncle Lucius," I said rather stiffly. I looked beyond him. "Hi, Draco." Draco gave a bored nod in my direction before slumping into one of our kitchen chairs, rubbing his eyes sleepily.

A brief silence.

"You're early."

"That we are, Zeb. But you know how the crowds in London are. Wanted to get a head start."

Father rubbed the back of his neck and looked past Lucius and out the window to the hilly landscape outside. There was just the hint of a sunrise at the horizon. He briefly narrowed his eyes at his brother but made no protest. "Very well. Pyris, go pack."

"Draco, go help your cousin."

Draco and I rolled our eyes in unison. Draco, out of pure laziness, and I, because I knew leaving my father and his brother alone would no doubt end in another argument. "Father," Draco began in his slow, drawling voice, "I'm sure the girl is quite capable of placing her own belongings in a trunk and closing it, all by herself. If not, I'm afraid she's not quite ready for Hogwarts."

"Draco. _Go_," said Lucius severely. "I have. . . things to _discuss_ with your uncle."

Draco knew better than to mouth off again. He slid out of his chair and followed me up the stairs. Once safely in my room with the door closed, I turned to Draco. "What do you think they're talking about?"

"How should I know?" he responded grouchily.

I decided any further attempt to make conversation with him this early in the morning was probably a foolish idea. I began taking clothes out of my wardrobe and putting them in my trunk, as Draco sat idly on my bed, staring at the door, his pure black robes a startling contrast to my pink floral sheets.

Soon, I had filled my trunk with everything I would need, but I wasn't sure if it was advisable to leave my room yet. The muffled voices from downstairs had grown a bit louder, and were now undeniably angry. I sat down next to Draco, who was still staring intently at the door, probably straining his ears to see if he could catch anything they were saying. I got the impression that he was quite used to this sort of situation, and wondered if his parents fought a lot. I had never experienced many arguments, since it had always been just me and my dad. We rarely fought, and rarely had contact with anyone else.

I asked a stupid question. "Do you reckon it's safe to go down there?"

"No," said Draco shortly.

The yelling escalated. "YOU CAN'T IGNORE IT ANYMORE, ZEB! YOU CAN'T IGNORE _HIM! _YOU CAN'T DO THIS ANYMORE!"

"I'LL DO WHATEVER I DAMN WELL PLEASE!"

"OH YES? ISN'T THAT HOW YOU ENDED UP IN AZKABAN?!"

"_ENOUGH!_"

Something fell, or was thrown, and made a loud crashing sound. Then there was silence.

I looked around my room awkwardly, trying to think of something to say. After what seemed like hours, Draco said, "I think it's time to go now."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. Come on."

It struck me how sure of himself Draco was whenever his father wasn't in the room. He grabbed my trunk and pulled it out into the hallway, then motioned for me to follow him down the stairs. As we reached the foot of the stairs, Lucius brought my trunk floating to us with a flick of his wand. Then without a word, he left, Draco on his heels like a trained dog.

I turned to my father. He gave me a weak smile, then pulled me close in a tight hug. "Be good, Pyris," he said, and kissed the top of my head. He released me and looked me straight in the eye, and then, as serious as though he were sending me off to war, said "Make me proud."

I nodded, picked up the end of my trunk, and pulled it after myself as I stepped out of the comfort of my home and into the great wide world.

I was going to Hogwarts now, where, I assumed, I would be just another first-year. Unfortunately, I could never hope for that kind of anonymity. People throughout all of wizarding Britain knew of the Malfoys, and most people at Hogwarts knew of Draco Malfoy. Everywhere I went at Hogwarts, everyone would see me for who I really was, because no matter what, I'd still have that pale blond hair, nearly infamous cousin, and of course, notorious Malfoy name.


End file.
